


Landscapes of Spring and Summer

by BertholdvonMoosburg



Series: Dances in a Starry Sky [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: BDSM, Established Relationship, F/F, Not Cheating, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Restraints, Soft domme Hiroko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 18:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BertholdvonMoosburg/pseuds/BertholdvonMoosburg
Summary: Some relationships do not fade with time or distance. There is always a need for the friend who knows your deepest self.





	Landscapes of Spring and Summer

Hiroko slid the door of the old banquet room shut behind her. The occasions when her girlhood friend was able to steal time to visit were rare and precious. Toshiya,  knowing how his young wife treasured these stolen moments, had closed the onsen bar early that night, put little Mari to bed, and was carrying their three month old son around in a sling as he did his evening chores.

She stood, arms crossed in front of her, tucked into the sleeves of her yukata. In front of her, at the foot of the low mat Toshiya had moved into the room while they ate and talked like the old friends they were, graceful as the last cherry blossoms falling in April, knelt her Mi-chan. 

The wider world knew her as Minako Okukawa, prima ballerina of the Bolshoi Ballet, winner of the  _ Benois de la danse _ . They knew her as Odette, they knew her as Aurora. They knew her as Nikiya. A very few, lucky enough to catch the first performances before the unrest in 1989 caused the Bolshoi to end its run of the Rite of Spring early, knew her as The Chosen One.

To Hiroko she was simply Mi-chan, as she’d always been.

She stepped into the room. Mi-chan’s face was tilted down, her eyes on the floor. Her elegant, dancer’s hands rested lightly on her knees. Hiroko’s feet made almost no sound as she padded forward to stand in front of her oldest friend. 

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

Reaching out a hand that was rough and stubby, calloused, nothing at all like a ballerina’s, she pulled out the simple pin holding Mi-chan’s hair on top of her head. Soft brown hair tumbled down, covering her shoulders and her face. Hiroko tilted Mi-chan’s face up to meet her eyes.

“Beautiful,” she repeated.

***

Minako blushed, but didn't try to avert her eyes. This was the only person who'd never demanded anything of her but herself. Hiroko had never understood dance. Oh, she'd come to Minako’s recitals as a child, had even come once all the way to Moscow to see her in her first role as prima, but she didn't understand what drew Minako to dance, nor any of the tiny subtleties that set one ballerina above the rest. 

All Hiroko had ever asked of her was herself. 

In Hiroko’s hands she was nothing but Minako.

And when Hiroko called her beautiful, she believed it.

A long sigh escaped her. Whatever Hiroko wanted of her tonight, she would give. She was safe in the hands that now slid her yukata down over her shoulders.

“Stand up,” Hiroko commanded softly.

Minako stood, yukata falling quietly to the tatami floor. Hiroko circled her, admiring. They never spoke much in these little interludes of their real lives. Words were for shared dinners cooked by Hiroko’s expert hands, so nimble with a knife, or for walks on the beach together, trading stories of raucous ballet corps and the antics of small children.

In this room, very little needed to be said.

Under Hiroko’s inspection, Minako stood very still. Her body was too firmly under her iron control to tremble, but she felt the butterflies flutter in her stomach and the wetness beginning to gather between her legs. 

“You aren't eating enough, Mi-chan.”

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. 

“You need to keep your body strong. Do not destroy yourself for your dance.”

“I will do better.”

“Good girl.” Minako shivered under that mildest of praises. 

“Now, lay down on your back on the mat for me. Spread your arms and legs to the corners of the mat.”

As Minako sunk down to the mat, she felt like she was falling into another self, one that only existed under Hiroko’s gentle fingers. This Minako did only and exactly as she was bid, did not need to think or speak, was able to lose herself to feeling in a way her normal iron control did not permit.

She stretched her legs out apart and felt the cool night air tease the soft hair there. Hiroko knelt at her side, smiling softly. 

“Your body makes art for the world to see, Mi-chan. Tonight, I want to make your body  _ into _ art for me and me alone to see.” Her hand trailed down Minako’s neck, curving around her breast, and over her taut stomach to where the curls hid the   _ aieki _ that Hiroko always drew forth.

A single finger slipped between the folds, sliding slickly along from clitoris to vagina. Hiroko hummed in approval and Minako tried and failed to suppress a low whine.

“You are always such a cooperative girl, Mi-chan. You're already ready for me. I do not wish to have myself messy tonight, though. Clean this for me.” And she held the finger to Minako’s lips.

Minako kept her eyes on her lovely Hiroko’s as she parted her lips and took the finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it and sucking gently to catch every trace of her own arousal as she was bid.

Hiroko smiled at her. At that moment, it was the only thing in the world that mattered: that Hiroko was pleased with her.

“I will permit you sounds tonight, Mi-chan. But I am going to bind your hands and feet. You spend so much time fighting your body, forcing it to do what you demand, but tonight I want to take that task from you. Making you into the art that I want would test even your control.”

Working limb by limb, Hiroko bound her securely with silk scarves to the heavy iron braziers surrounding the mat.

Minako could feel her heart racing. 

***

Hiroko looked down on her Mi-chan, bound and vulnerable. It filled her with pleasure that she was the only one who was permitted this. Of all Minako’s admirers and even lovers, only Hiroko would ever see her lost to submission like this. Only she would see the dreamy look and contented smile.

It was two long years since they had seen each other. Two years of Minako Okukawa, prima ballerina, adored by the world.

Tonight she intended to create a different sort of art. Hiroko wanted her Mi-chan to remember her claim long after Mi-chan returned to the world of jetés and arabesques. From her obi she drew a simple bamboo ink brush.

***

Minako watched curiously. Hiroko had mentioned art, and had been skilled in their school days at ink-wash painting, but there was no ink-stone or ink-stick to be seen. 

She twitched involuntarily as Hiroko stroked the brush lightly over her bare hip.

“Badger hair,” she commented. “It may tickle. Try to remain still. I will be disappointed if you ruin my painting.” Minako nodded.

Hiroko knelt between her spread knees. 

A small gasp escaped Minako as fingers spread the folds of her vulva once again.

A long, low moan followed as she felt the soft tip of the brush glide along her slowly, collecting  _ aieki _ and tickling the sensitive little nub as Hiroko drew it away.  _ Ink _ .

She felt the brush curve under her right breast, slowly, deliberately.

It curved slowly in languid strokes down her side. Hiroko dipped the brush once again between her legs and drew delicate strokes on her abdomen. Minako forced her eyes open to look at Hiroko. The artist was wearing a look of concentration as she considered, then dipped the brush again into her inkwell. 

Minako’s eyes drifted shut again and her hips writhed. The brush was soft, teasing, never enough. A hand gently placed on her hip reminded her to keep still.

The need to remain still was almost too much for her. She blessed her beautiful friend for the foresight of the silk bonds. Her feet and hands flexed over and over, channelling the motions she was denied elsewhere. 

Minako felt exposed in a way she never had on the stage.

The slow drag of the brush gathering  _ aieki _ was a torment. Trying to puzzle out the picture Hiroko was painting was beyond her, and she could only bask in the careful stroke of the badger fur on her skin. 

Hiroko did not lack for ink.

***

Hiroko paused, looking down at Mi-chan. She doubted Mi-chan was even aware of the soft whimpers that escaped her. 

Invisible valleys and mountains adorned her body, there for Hiroko and Hiroko alone to know of. She wished it were possible for Mi-chan to keep the painting, but to go without bathing would never be a thing she would demand. It would suffice to simply know what had been done, that she had marked and claimed Mi-chan’s body as her own.

Hiroko felt keenly the privilege and trust Mi-chan granted her. She was allowed to draw a desperation out that even other lovers would never see. It made her breath catch and  _ aieki _ slick between her own legs.

She trembled with the effort to keep a steady hand as she wet the brush again and drew a slow whorl around her canvas’s nipple.

“Oops,” she said mildly, having made no mistake whatsoever.

***

Dimly, Minako heard Hiroko’s comment, but her brain was too distracted by sensation to grasp the meaning.

Until, that is, she felt the warmth envelop her breast. She cried out, arching into Hiroko’s mouth, and heard a pleased hum in reply.

Hiroko’s tongue stroked her sensitive nipple, flicking it and eliciting a louder moan. With a wet sound, Hiroko released her and sat back on her knees. 

“It is a good thing that I am almost finished,” she said, and Minako felt the brush slide along her once more. “The art I am making of you requires only one more element.”

The brush slid along her length again, swirling around the sides of her clitoris, tickling with the tip, and then along her, over and over.  _ More, _ her body screamed, _ more, please more. _

The pleasure and torture of it did not stop this time. Minako Okukawa, who lived by beating her own body into submission, who had once finished a performance of the Nutcracker with a fractured talus, was unable to stop herself any longer. Her hips writhed to the rhythm of Hiroko’s brushstrokes. 

“Beautiful,” she heard dimly. “So beautiful when you lose yourself like this for me. You are almost there, Mi-chan. My beautiful work of art.”

The tension built low in her body: an urgent, desperate thing that Minako chased mindlessly with every stroke against her. 

It burst upon her like a wave. Minako’s back arched and her long, low cry filled the banquet hall. A fresh burst of  _ aieki _ coated the brush still held between her folds.

Her body collapsed back onto the mat. She gasped for air, and as she trembled and pulsed with the aftermath, she felt Hiroko draw the brush away. 

“Now I can finish,” she heard, and felt series of short, even strokes across her belly. “Perfect.”

A gentle hand turned Minako’s face to the side. She opened her eyes. 

Hiroko wore a look of deep satisfaction. “I have only to sign my painting,” she said.

Shifting her knees apart, Hiroko moved aside the folds of her yukata. With her spare hand holding herself open, she drew the brush slowly between her own legs. Not breaking eye contact, she carefully drew the kanji of her name across Minako’s cheeks.

***

Hiroko placed her brush down on the nearest brazier. Carefully she undid the scarves that restrained her canvas. 

“You were so perfect, Mi-chan,” she praised. “So perfect and so beautiful. Come, let me hold you.” And she helped Minako into her lap, pulling the abandoned yukata over her nude form, wrapping her in her arms.

“You did so well. It was gorgeous to watch you. I loved it so much.” Softly Hiroko stroked her friend’s long hair, murmuring a low stream of compliments and praises. Finally they simply sat in silence together.

Eventually, Hiroko felt Minako draw a long breath and exhale. She smiled.

“Welcome back,” she said. “Toshiya closed the springs to guests earlier for cleaning, so if you will let me help you there, we can clean you off and relax together.”

Minako made a face. “I wish I didn't have to. I wish I could keep your art on my skin all the way back to Moscow.” 

Hiroko’s heart warmed to know her Mi-chan wished the same as she did. She bent over to kiss her soft lips.

They parted after a long moment, Minako looking suddenly dismayed. “Hiro-chan! I never… I mean, what about you? You're so good to me and-”

Hiroko cut her off with another kiss. “Let's get you cleaned up first, and then share a soak. I asked Toshiya to leave out some onigiri in the kitchen for us. We can bring them back here. I don't know about you, but I am a bit hungry and will be even more so after a bath.”

She smoothed Minako’s hair off her forehead.

“We have all night, Mi-chan.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Sesshu Toyo's ink-wash masterpieces, "Landscapes of Autumn and Winter".


End file.
